


End of the Lies

by VivWiley



Series: Harm's Way [5]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s04e24 Gethsemane, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivWiley/pseuds/VivWiley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skinner's reactions to the hearing in Gethsemane and his new course of action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of the Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the X-Files are the property of Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, they are not being used for commercial purposes and no infringement is intended.
> 
> Dedication: this is for Madeleine, without whom I never would have posted the first time; and for Meredith, without whom I never would have posted the second, third or seventeenth time! Thank you.
> 
> It is not necessary to have read any of the previous Harm's Way stories to understand this, but a couple of things from HW IV are alluded to.

"SON OF A BITCH!"

The stillness of Walter Skinner's apartment was fractured by the simultaneous sounds of the AD's shout and the shattering of the glass that he'd hurled at the wall of his living room.

He was on his feet, his breath hard and shallow in his chest, the report crumpled in his hand before he'd even had time to realize that he'd reacted.

_I've come here today, four years later, to report on the_  
illegitimacy of Agent Mulder's work. That it is my   
scientific opinion that he became over the course of those  
years, a victim, a victim of his own false hopes and of his  
belief in the biggest of lies. 

What the fuck was going on? He'd gotten back late from his latest assignment from the chain smoker to find a message on his voicemail that Agent Mulder had apparently committed suicide the previous night. And now this?

A board of inquiry against Agent Mulder had been called without him, Mulder's direct supervisor, and Agent Scully had apparently been the chief accuser and star witness. The official transcript of the hearing had been left under Skinner's door, in an unmarked envelope, but he had no reason to doubt that it was less than authentic. He noted cynically that it had been notarized, but that scarcely mattered. He didn't need the official seal to tell him that this hearing had taken place.

What the fuck was going on?

Nothing made sense. He'd long known that Scully mis-trusted some of Mulder's contacts; that she thought his willingness to believe in extreme possibilities left him vulnerable to specific types of fraud. But time and again, he'd seen her pull him back from the brink -- insert herself between Mulder and obvious lies. Keep him on an even keel. It was the central aspect of their partnership that Skinner knew made them most effective. It was Scully's ability to keep Mulder in line that he'd always counted on to keep them out of the worst trouble.

Now she was throwing him -- his memory -- to the lions. Why? It didn't match anything he knew, or thought he knew about her, her loyalty and her relationship with Mulder. What game was she playing? What game were _they_ playing?

How had they arranged a board so quickly, and without his knowledge? The transcript listed all the attendees, including that supercilious bastard Blevins -- but Skinner had never even picked up any rumors about the hearing. He knew that in his current position that he had been removed from several loops, official and unofficial, but he'd thought he still had some contacts.

His rage was suddenly compounded by confusion as it dawned on him that he'd had no word from Scully about Mulder's death. Why hadn't she called? What was she _doing?_

Of course he realized that the timing of his latest assignment had been no accident. The whole assignment from the smoker had felt "off" this time. It wasn't merely that once again he was destroying evidence -- if he never saw another bee it would be too damn soon -- it was simply that the three-day assignment to Michigan hadn't fit into any of the usual categories of jobs that he'd done for the SOB. 

He'd known that he was being sent out of the way. That the assignment had more to do with getting Skinner out of town, than actually aiding the smoker's masters. It seemed clear now what the real intent had been, but something still didn't add up.... 

Skinner stared blindly at the remains of his scotch snaking down the wall, the rivulets in the half-light of the night casting an odd reddish glow, almost like blood. He shook off the thought, and turned back to the report of the hearing.

He found himself on his feet again, this time just barely suppressing the shout of rage that rose in his chest.

_What I couldn't tell Agent Mulder, what I had only just_  
learned myself, was that the cancer which had been   
diagnosed in me several months earlier had metastasized.   
And the doctors told me, short of a miracle, it would   
continue to aggressively invade my body, advancing   
faster each day towards the inevitable. 

He'd told Mulder that they were running out of time -- half believing, half hoping-against-hope that the smoking bastard would actually uphold his part of their bargain. He'd given Mulder the warning and the time to start acting after the fiasco with the Cassandras in Providence. Apparently Mulder's remorse over his stupidity had been short lived.

Skinner realized for neither the first nor the last time that his deal with the smoker was merely a snare and delusion -- that there had never been any hope of a cure for Scully, that he'd only handed the enemy another weapon. Her fate had been sealed from the moment she was partnered with Mulder. It enraged him, it made him feel a million years old. 

As a solider, he'd always understood that wars claimed lives with a callous indifference toward each life taken. Virtue, honor, loyalty: none of these things mattered in war. His own experiences had taught him that luck probably had the most to do with who survived. A certain native cunning might keep you out of the worst of the fire fights in guerrilla warfare, but ultimately the random, indifferent taking of lives was all there was in any war.

And Scully would be this war's next victim. 

He'd thought to buy her time, and just maybe a cure with his deal. But the devil's minion had probably never had the power to bargain for that miracle. But Skinner also knew that if he could live the last months over, he'd probably make the same decision. The risk had to be taken. He owed it to Scully, to Mulder, to himself.

As he continued to read Scully's testimony of the days leading up to Mulder's "apparent" suicide, Skinner was both fascinated and appalled that Mulder had apparently learned nothing from his recent experiences with chasing false leads.

Evidently having holes drilled in his head had left more residual damage than the doctors had been able to gauge. Damn the foolhardy boy. Damn his narrow-minded quest for the "truth." Skinner had given him every bit of leeway possible, but Mulder, rather than trying to save Scully had instead gone off on his final wild goose chase.

And then had apparently killed himself. Skinner still couldn't quite reconcile that act with the passionate, renegade agent he'd known.

The story that Scully presented of Kritschgau's uncovering the lie within the lies had a too-convenient ring to Skinner. He had no doubts that the US Government was, in fact, involved in any number of the so-called "unsolvable" cases that Mulder and Scully had run up against in the past four years. However, Skinner found himself agreeing with Mulder that it was simply a little too easy that Kritschgau had surfaced when he had.

The ensuing disappearance of the "alien" body and the deaths of the scientists had an all-too familiar ring to it. It had shocked Skinner, however, to read Scully's assertion that her cancer had been deliberately induced simply to convince Mulder of the grand hoax of alien life.

Suddenly the scenario seemed too convoluted even for the forces that he now served. The whole situation seemed contrived, false.

He finished reading the transcript of the hearing, including the panel's recommendation that all X-Files be put on hold pending an official inquiry into Agent Mulder's death, and in recognition of the fact that Agent Scully had requested an indefinite medical leave of absence.

It was that final sentence that brought him to his feet for the third time that evening.

He stalked over to his phone, not even bothering to check his watch. Time had no meaning for any of them anymore.

As her phone rang for the fourth time, he did finally look -- 3:25 a.m. -- and then she picked up. She clearly had not been asleep.

"Mu...Hello?"

"Agent Scully? This is Assistant Director Skinner. I just returned from my...trip. I wanted to offer my condolences..." He stopped. Then resumed, dropping his overly formal tone. "Scully? What happened?"

There was a long pause. "Did you hear about the Board of Inquiry, sir?"

"Yes, I just finished reading the transcript. What happened, Scully?"

"Where are you, Sir?" 

"At my apartment." He realized she was wondering if they were being taped. He cursed himself -- they probably were.

"Meet me at the eastern most bench at the Tidal Basin in 30 minutes." She hung up.

 

The night was unseasonably cool. He was actually glad for the chill. It seemed fitting. It also meant that the jacket he wore to conceal his weapon was less noticeable. She had gotten there before him.

She was staring across the water, watching the reflection of the Jefferson Memorial reflected on the inky surface, but she was also perfectly tuned in to her surroundings. When he was still 10 feet away, her voice reached him.

"Thanks for coming."

Skinner had the feeling that the setting had some specific significance for her. That she was remembering something; replaying a scene for a final time. He refused to speculate. She looked smaller than he remembered. Diminished in some way.

"Scully, I'm so sorry about Mulder."

She finally looked up at him, her eyes unreadable -- her face the perfect mask that earned her the nickname of Ice Queen.

"Me too, sir. Me too."

Not knowing what else to do, he sat down on the bench next to her. Close, but not touching.

"Jesus, Scully, what happened? Mulder, the board..."

For a long time she said nothing, just stared out across the water. Skinner watched her profile for a bit, but didn't want her to feel like he was staring, so finally he turned to look at the Memorial as well. After what felt like an eternity, but was probably more like a quarter of an hour, he felt her stir, reach some decision.

"My cancer has metastasized."

He began to interrupt, "I know--" but she turned toward him, cutting him off with no more than her quietness.

"My cancer has metastasized. In all likelihood, I now have less than a month to live. Yesterday I asked for an indefinite medical leave of absence. Tomorrow I will resign from the Bureau." She turned back to the water. Her tone was flat, as though she were describing particularly routine post-mortem findings.

"I don't know why Agent Mulder chose to take his life, sir. He didn't..." for the first time she faltered. "He didn't leave a letter."

Skinner ached for the emptiness he heard in her voice. He'd seen Mulder when Scully had been missing and presumed dead. He'd thought that he would never again witness such raw pain. He'd been wrong. It was worse to see that pain controlled and focused into a living grief.

"I will be leaving this area by the end of the week. My mother doesn't need to deal with...with what will come next. I will travel for a bit, and then make arrangements for...the end."

Skinner had a sudden vision of hotel room and a perfectly placed gun shot.

She looked down at her hands that had been clasped in her lap the whole time. She twisted them lightly and then opened them.

Still looking down, she stood up and then she turned slightly, finally meeting his gaze for the first time that evening.

"Sir, I just wanted to thank you, before I left. I wanted to let you know that we...that I have a lot of respect for you and what you've done for us, the X-Files...for me. It's been an honor working with you." 

She held out her hand, and he took it, clasping its small form between both of his. "Agent Scully, I..." But what could he say? He wanted to say he was sorry. Sorry for failing her, for failing to keep Mulder from doing something stupid, failing to bargain effectively for a cure. But he could say none of that. 

"Agent Scully, Dana, it's a been an honor to serve with you, too." He consciously used the military phrase, knowing she would understand the implications. Knowing she had been a true comrade in arms.

She looked in his eyes for another long moment, trying to reach a final decision, he thought. "Sir, Mulder really did trust you, you know? He always thought that you were the perfect man for the job." It was an odd thing to say -- her tone was obviously different; she was trying to tell him something more.

She gently disengaged her hand from his, and stepped back a little. "Good luck, sir. And, again, thank you for all that you tried to do." She turned and walked away.

Watching her diminutive form as it was swallowed by the night, Skinner suddenly heard her words. "...all you tried to do." She knew! She knew about his deal with the chain smoker. Which meant that Mulder had to have told her. 

Skinner suddenly knew that Mulder wasn't dead. 

He wondered if Scully knew, or only suspected. The game was now in its final stages and Scully and Mulder had each made their moves to set the final play in motion. They clearly wanted his help, but were still unsure how far to trust him. She'd given him a clue, he just needed to decipher it.

He sat and stared across the water for a long time.

As he packed his bag, he took a last look around his apartment. It was a sterile bachelor's residence, devoid of all but the most minimal personal touches. It was a fitting place for the nobody he'd become. It was fitting that he left it now.

He carefully left his badge and his service weapon on the table beside the telephone that he left off the hook.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Thank you to Meredith for Beta reading.
> 
> This is the final Harm's Way story. I never intended to create a series of them, but then again, CC and co never gave us enough insight into the whole Skinner/CSM deal, either, so you can blame them. Many thanks to all who have encouraged me and given me such wonderful feedback as I tried to find Skinner's voice. Walter and I have had a lot of fun.
> 
>  
> 
> All comments most happily received


End file.
